


To Be Better

by AlastorGrim



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, Fix-It of Sorts, Minor Character Death, Multi, PTSD, Peter Parker's Martyr Complex, Sassy Peter Parker, Slow Burn, The Sinister Six - Freeform, Throwing All Spideys Into One Spidey, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, Tony Stark's Martyr Complex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-07-29 19:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlastorGrim/pseuds/AlastorGrim
Summary: When Mr. Stark takes away the suit, things go a bit differently. Peter decides that even without fancy tech, he is still Spider-Man. Granted, he can't run around in sweats again, but when has Peter ever been afraid to make his own stuff? Back up only two weeks after the Ferry, Spider-Man takes down the Vulture, and gains himself a hell of a lot of new enemies. The only problem is, now he has to keep looking over his shoulder for Iron Man—he can't imagine Mr. Stark is too happy with him. Too bad.





	1. See Where It Gets You

**Author's Note:**

> Because let's be real, Peter Parker would never hang up Spider-Man just like that. 
> 
> This is Endgame Starker, but there is gonna be a lot of emphasis on Peter and Gwen's relationship, because I didn't want to belittle that loss. This is actually not as sad as the tags make it sound, I promise, I just tried to include everything out of Spider-Man Canon, which is just—really fucking depressing, when you look at it.
> 
> I wanted a fic that had Peter being independent and showing Tony what he could do, but there I realized that Tony would never let Peter get into the situations to show himself off because they're too dangerous and Tony has a stroke every time this kid almost dies. So I decided that they needed a little space, and as a result, Peter holds a slight resentment for Tony for a while. He'll get over it eventually, but be reassured that he is McPissed™️ for most of the big events that happen in his life, because if he wasn't, he wouldn't be put in those situations. Get me?
> 
> Happy reading, my darklings!

_"When you can do the things that I can do, and you **don't**...then when the bad things happen, they happen because of **you**."_

🕸️

Peter swung up to the top of the building and immediately yanked off his mask. He felt like he couldn't breathe, his lungs too small and his throat too narrow. Wheezing into the bunched up fabric in his hands, Peter plopped down on the side of the building and tried to calm his racing heart. His eyes were watering, and he could taste bay water in the back of his mouth, gritty and thick. 

God, that was stupid. That was so, so stupid of him. He'd nearly gotten those people killed.

_"Hey you! Stop that guy!"_

_"I missed the part where that's my problem."_

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and made a strangled noise, muffled by his hands.

_"Uncle Ben? Uncle Ben! Uncle Ben, please, no, please—"_

No. No, he was not doing this again. He didn't get to feel sorry for himself. This was not the time to throw himself a pity party and wallow in his mistakes, whether past or present. But, God, he was going to have to pull off a miracle to make this right again. Peter had to catch the Vulture.

The sound of thrusters reached his ears and jerked him out of his reverie. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Peter glanced over at the hovering Iron Man suit through his curls, then quickly looked away.

"Previously on 'Peter Screws the Pooch',"

Oh hell. Here it comes.

"I tell you to stay away from this, and what do you do? You _hacked_ a multimillion dollar suit so that you could sneak around behind my back and do the _one thing_ I told you not to do."

"Is everyone okay?" Peter asked, deciding to just—put a pin in that well of shame that just washed over him, and stick to business. No wallowing now.

"Uh, no thanks to you," Mr. Stark bit out harshly, tone more angry than Peter had ever heard it. It wasn't even an explosive anger, like Aunt May's, or background anger like Ben's. It was steady, calm fury, burning just underneath his skin. It made Peter wince.

Not that it stopped Peter from opening his big mouth. "Well, maybe if you had actually _listened_ to me, I wouldn't have had to investigate them by myself." Peter stood, because this was not a situation where people had arguments sitting down. "Maybe if you didn't handle me with kiddy gloves, I wouldn't have hacked the suit. Maybe I would've trusted you more, if I knew that you actually cared enough to be here right now!"

Peter didn't know when he started shouting but it was loosening that horrible knot in his chest and he couldn't stop. He was raring to start again when all of a sudden the suit fell back—

—and out stepped Tony Stark.

Oh. Oh _shit_.

"I did listen, kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh?" Mr. Stark said lowly as he advanced on Peter, who stumbled back several feet. Those dark eyes pierced through Peter's anger and made him feel about two inches tall. "Did you know that I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else thought that I was crazy to recruit a fourteen-year-old kid."

"I'm fifteen," Peter responded thoughtlessly, on instinct more than any sort of desire to make a point.

"No, this is where you zip it!" Mr. Stark barked, mouth twisted in a furious scowl. Peter jumped and nearly tumbled off the roof as his calves hit the ledge of the building. "Alright? The adult is talking." Mr. Stark sucked in a deep breath and ran a hand over his scruff.He pinned Peter with a look that he was all too familiar with. "What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right—because that's on you."

'_It always is,_' Peter thought numbly, but he couldn't say it. He wanted to scream it, to start shouting again because then at least it wouldn't feel like this. But he couldn't, because—

_"How dare you—"_

_"How dare I? How dare **you**! Stop pretending to be my father!"_

Everything came back to that, didn't it? Those last few words where Ben had tried to warn him about this exact situation, about responsibility, and he'd hurled it back into his Uncle's face. He couldn't do that again. He wouldn't. 

So Peter just started to nod his head a little, agreeing because Mr. Stark was right. This was on him. Peter was lucky that nobody had died because he decided to try and accost a weapons dealer in a public setting. 

"And if you die," Mr. Stark continued as he flailed his hands a little. "I feel like that's on me. I don't need that on my conscience."

"Yes sir. I-I'm...I'm sorry," Peter said, because he couldn't say anything else. All other words and protests clotted in his throat until he felt like he was drowning again.

"'Sorry' doesn't cut it."

"I—" He choked on the words and took a moment to swallow the rest of them down. They tasted like brine. After a moment, he ducked his head and fisted his hands. "I just wanted to be like you."

There was a moment of silence then. It could've been hours long, or seconds. Peter certainly couldn't tell. When Mr. Stark spoke again, his voice sounded tired, and—oh, God—_disappointed_. "And I wanted you to be better."

'_How,_' Peter wanted to yell. '_How am I supposed to do that if you don't tell me? I don't know what you want from me. You don't **talk** to me._'

He didn't say any of that either. The silence stretched again, tense and thin.

Mr. Stark suddenly clapped his hands together. Peter startled hard enough that, had he not stuck his feet to the rooftop, he would've gone sailing over the side. "Alright. It's not working out. I'm gonna need the suit back."

A mangled, "What?" Chirped out of Peter's lips, shrill. "F-For how long?"

Dark eyes regarded him with something trailing the line of detachment. "Forever."

The word rang in Peter's for a moment, before sinking into his chest like lead. Pleas and platitudes began pouring out of his mouth as he tried to back up again and realized that he couldn't because he was an _idiot_ that backed himself into far too many corners. The ringing in his ears dissipated and he heard himself say, "Please, this is all I have. I'm nothing without this suit."

He hadn't meant to say that. He knew it wasn't true, not really, but it was hard to differentiate between the suit itself and Spider-Man. And Peter was _nothing_ without Spider-Man. But before he could make the correction, Mr. Stark responded.

"If you're nothing without the suit...then you shouldn't have it." 

And Peter...well.

His entire body had gone numb. He stared at Mr. Stark for a minute, face blank, and his thoughts reverted back to static, white noise. 

Peter slammed his palm down onto the little spider in the center of his chest, and the suit loosened. He let it drop to the rooftop, stepping out of it as Mr. Stark's eyes widened. Peter vaguely registered that he was standing on top of a high building in nothing but his underwear, but couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. He stepped back onto the ledge of the building and dipped his head jerkily.

"Bye then, Mr. Stark." He murmured, then turned and lept off the roof. A shout came from behind him, but it was quickly swept away by the sound of rushing wind. On instinct, he twisted and did a flip to soften the blow of dropping around fifty feet into the bay. It didn't hurt as much as when the Vulture had dropped him, but the cold still sucked the air from his lungs.

Breaking the surface, Peter gasped as his brain came back online, panic briefly ringing his thoughts before he remembered that he was close to the shore. Teeth chattering, he began to swim for the beach. At least he wouldn't look like too much of an idiot when he showed up at the hotel in his boxers. 

"Yes, Mr. Halloway, I forgot my swim trunks. No, I do not have pneumonia, because I'm actually a mutate and as long as I eat about eight bowls of ramen, I'm right as rain in the morning." He grumbled under his breath, resolutely keeping his brain off the past thirty minutes. 

Mental breakdown later, Peter. Not right now. Not where he can _see_ you.

Peter grit his teeth and swam faster until he was able to heaved himself up onto the dusty sand of one of the thin beaches. Two girls dressed in puffer jackets taking selfies stared at him as he slogged his way over to the nearest cluster of shops. He needed to call Ned. Decathlon waited for no man, after all.

•🕸️•

Ned was waiting for him at the edge of the hotel. When he saw Peter, his eyes widened. "Holy _shit_, dude. What happened?"

"I cut a ferry in half on accident," Peter managed to grit out between shivers. "Did you bring my clothes? I really don't want to walk into the hotel like this." 

"But what happened to your—"

"Ned," Peter snapped, eyes narrowed. "Clothes? Please?"

"Right, right," Ned blurted as he hastily pulled jeans and a t-shirt out of his backpack. He thrust them at Peter and shifted anxiously from foot to foot. "So, are you gonna tell me what happened?" He prodded after Peter had pulled his pants on.

Tugging the t-shirt down over wet curls, Peter shook out his hair and nodded towards the doors to the hotel. "I'll tell you when we get up to the room."

He really didn't want to. This day had humiliating enough without having to rehash it all to his best friend. But that was exactly why Peter was going to tell Ned; he was his best friend and had put up with a lot more of Peter's bullshit than other people would have.

Ned nodded rapidly and followed after Peter as he slid into the hotel, dodged the crowds, and jogged up the stairs. He slung open the door to their room and immediately began to pace through the strewn clothing and bits and bobs that he'd brought in his suitcase that he'd yet to pack back up. He heard Ned shut the door behind him and ran his hands through his hair.

"Dude, what—"

"He took the suit," Peter grit out. His pacing quickened until Ned was sure that he would wear holes in the crappy carpeting. "I fucked up and he said that I wasn't responsible enough and that he put too much faith in me so he took the suit back."

"Whoa, wait, what?" Ned yelped. He stumbled over to sit on his bed. "And you, uh, you just gave it up? Just like that?" 

"What was I supposed to do? It's not mine." Bitterness swirled up like sediment in Peter's chest and he pursed his lips and glared down at the floor. "It was never mine."

Ned shifted on the bed nervously. "But, like, without the suit...does that mean that you're not Spider-Man anymore?"

Peter froze, and Ned winced, wide eyed. Brow furrowed, Peter pointed at Ned and turned slowly to face him. He shook his head roughly and flailed his hand a bit, as if trying to make a point. "No. _No_," Peter said firmly. "No it doesn't."

Hesitantly, Ned ventured, "It doesn't?"

Running a hand through his hair again, Peter snorted. "Hell no. I've just been being an idiot for the past week. The suit was never mine, true, but Spider-Man is. Spider-Man belongs to _me_."

"Yeah. Yeah!" Ned agreed enthusiastically. He stood up as well. "He can take the suit, but he can't take you, right? You still have all your powers and junk!" He blurted.

"_When you can do the right thing, you have a moral obligation to do those things. No matter the cost._"

"Spider-Man does not belong to Tony Stark," Peter said feverishly as he darted over to his suitcase and began to throw things into it.

"But what're you gonna do now? I mean, do you still have your old outfit?"

"It's in the back of my closet somewhere," Peter replied distractedly as he flapped a hand over his shoulder. "But I really can't run around in sweats anymore. No, I'm going to make a new suit. I may not have all that fancy tech to work with, but I've never needed any of that before. I can make myself a suit that's just Spider-Man's." He tugged his laptop out from beneath one of his hoodies, eyes flinty.

"And _no one_ can take Spider-Man away from me."


	2. Do Whatever I Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently sick, so enjoy this chapter while I wallow in misery (and hopefully comments). I tried to look over this but it wasn't really working so sorry for any mistakes.

Returning home from Washington was a trainwreck and a half. Aunt May was in a tizzy because of the monument and the ferry, which translated into her hovering around Peter for the next two days, which he wouldn't have minded had it not been putting a significant dent in his plans. The decathlon team was pissed at him, which meant Flash was more of a nuisance than normal, and Liz refused to talk to him. 

Peter reverted back to dumpster diving for a little extra cash, even going so far as to sell some of his stuff. Ned suggested selling some of their completed Lego sets, which Peter appreciated, but couldn't do. They were Ned's, and he wasn't going to sell the things that had been the bonding points in their friendship. It was a nice gesture, but not happening.

Ned came over most days after school to help him with his plan, which was mostly spent with Ned encrypting Peter's laptop with some sort of unhackable software so he could use it for 'business'(Guy In The Chair style), and Peter browsing Craigslist for materials.

"Spandex. Spandex. Why is everything _spandex_?" Peter groaned as he rolled over on his bed to flip dramatically onto the carpet where Ned was sitting.

"I mean, it may suck, but it's practical. You want something with lots of flexibility that's thin enough for you to sticky sticky through," Ned explained, making a weird hand motion at the wall. Peter stared at him, and he stopped.

Humming, Peter leaned closer to look at the screen. "I guess. Do they have any red in bulk? But not bright red. I think I need to change my color scheme up a little. Darken it so I can blend in better."

Ned clicked a few links and smiled. "Yep, and in a nearby store too, so you won't have to buy it online. Unless you want Stark to know what you're doing?"

Peter scowled at the screen. "Not particularly. I've got a hunch that he'll try to stop me."

"Just try?" Ned answered sarcastically, eyebrows raised. He faltered at the look on Peter's face.

"Yeah, Ned. Try. You know, before I throw a truck at his building to distract him so we can finish it up," Peter mused, the epitome of casualty as he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back. He may have been playing it up a little for Ned (he was far too anxious to actually throw a truck at Mr. Stark's building), but he meant the rest of it.

"Man, dude. You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"I'm pissed, yeah," Peter admitted as his shoulders slumped from their defensive position. "But I get it, I guess. Doesn't mean I'm going to let him stop me."

Ned held up his fist with a lopsided grin. "Respect, bro." He turned back to the screen after Peter fistbumped him. "And just so you know, this is the coolest shit I've ever done."

A knock at Peter's door startled them both. "Peter, honey? Is Ned staying for dinner? I need to know if how much meatloaf I need to make."

Peter slapped a hand over Ned's mouth just as he went to agree. "Uh, no. Ned can't stay for dinner, his mom's real strict." He waited until May had hummed in acknowledgement and left again, before removing his hand from Ned's face, which had twisted in offense. "Don't give me that look, I just _saved_ you. I love May, but her meatloaf makes Oxen keel over."

Ned blinked, then gave Peter a solemn salute. "I thank you for your sacrifice, General Spider-Man."

An involuntary snort left Peter's lips, and he lolled his head back onto his bed as his shoulders shook with silent laughter. Ned joined him, giggling quietly as he stood up to grab his stuff.

"Alright dude. The shop tomorrow after school?"

"Yeah. I'll bring my trash money." Peter replied with a peace sign thrown towards the door, not looking up.

"Stop calling it your trash money, oh my God," Ned laughed as he left. "Bye Peter. Bye Mrs. Parker!"

"I told you to call me May, Ned!"

•🕸️•

"How are we doing this?"

"I've seen YouTube videos about it, I've got this. Here, you just dump on the paint and I'll roll it, okay? On three. One. Two. Three—"

"Ah, no! It's on my shoes!"

"Yeah, maybe we didn't need that much."

"Well peel it back, let's take a look at it!"

… 

"...Holy."

"...Shit."

"We're geniuses."

"Hell yeah, dude! It's badass!"

"Looks like Spider-Man's back in business."

•🕸️•

The first time Peter donned his new suit and went out swinging again, it was two weeks after the ferry incident. He made sure to keep low to the ground (metaphorically), but he supposed he didn't really need to. Peter had taken Ned's words to heart and fashioned himself a signal disturber so that the CCTV cameras wouldn't be able to catch sight of him unless they were at least ten blocks away. Sure, blank static for a select few seconds was suspicious, but better than having Mr. Stark figure him out right away. 

Peter needed a little time to get back into his skin. Some time to fall back in love with swinging for swinging's sake and catching criminals. It was just small stuff at first, common thieves and car jackers. Embarrassingly, it took another three days for Peter to remember who was supposed to be looking for.

After school one day, he had caught up to Liz just as she went to her car. 

"Hey! Liz, hey, please wait!" He called as he jogged his way over to her. He jumped a bit when she whirled on him, startled.

"What do you want, Peter?" She huffed. She didn't look angry, exactly, but she didn't look happy to see him either. Peter couldn't blame her.

"I, um, I just wanted to apologize," Peter began. He averted his eyes to his beat up sneakers and rocked back and forth on his heels. "For Decathlon. I promised to be there, and I wasn't. I left the team hanging, and even if we won, it was still crappy of me. So, I just wanted to say t-that I'm sorry."

Liz regarded him with narrow eyes for a moment, but her demeanor had softened by the end of his speech. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she hummed. "Thank you, Peter. I appreciate that you took the time to come apologize. But it's not really me you should be apologizing to," She pointed out. "MJ picked up most of your slack."

With a sly grin, she turned on heel and started walking over to her car again. A flush painted Peter's cheeks and he smiled after her dumbly. He watched her walk up to a sleek black car, a man standing next to—

Peter went pale.

Liz looked over her shoulder and waved at him. Peter lifted a hand back absently, entire body tingling with alarm as he stared at the familiar face of the Vulture, standing next to Liz, kissing her forehead, ushering her into the car. Because of course. Of _course_.

"Fricking Parker luck," Peter cursed as he spun on heel and hurried away so he could catch the bus. Halfway there, however, Peter changed direction and ducked into the bathrooms.

Five minutes later, Spider-Man emerged and swung over the school to land on the roof. Crawling slowly along the roof, Peter peered over the lip of the wall and watched the black car pull out of the parking lot and make its way out onto the street. Peter gusted out a breath and waited for it to drive out of sight before leaping off the roof and swinging after it.

"It's not creepy. I'm not following her, I'm following her dad. I'm not a stalker. It's not creepy."

'_It's a little creepy,_' A little voice in the back of his head muttered.

"Whatever," Peter mumbled to himself with a roll of his eyes. He made sure to keep out of sight of the car mirrors so that he didn't tip the Vulture off to his presence as he swung along behind them. Only, he was briefly interrupted by the sound of tires screeching, brakes failing, and small footsteps on concrete. 

Head whipping to the side, Peter didn't hesitate before slinging himself off course and down a smaller lane. A small girl had chased a ball into the road, where a mail truck was trying and failing to stop. Heart thudding loudly in his ears, Peter swung himself forward with new vigor, swept down to scoop the little girl up, and deposited her safely on the sidewalk. Then, split-second, he turned and caught the bumper of the careening mail truck. It jerked to a stop and Peter sighed in relief. He ruffled the wide eyed kid's hair and nodded at her. 

"Don't play in the roads, kids. And get your brakes checked, sir!" Peter called as he ran off and launched himself upwards once more. The little girl laughed and waved excitedly after him, and Peter took a moment to revel in the warm, proud feeling in his chest before realizing that he'd lost the car. "Shit!" Arching his body through the air, Peter managed to land on the rooftop of the building he'd been swinging off of. 

His eyes scanned the roads below desperately, and his detour must not have taken as long as he thought it had, because the Vulture's car was still trundling through the sporadic traffic below. Peter let out a sigh of relief, then swung down to follow once more.

The car pulled off the main roads towards the nicer part of the neighborhood. Peter furrowed his brow. That gigantic house Peter remembered from that fateful night of the house party (_sharp claws, falling, rushing water, **drowning**—_) loomed on the other end, and Peter had to drop down to swing between the trees as the buildings thinned and tapered off. Not wanting to repeat the fiasco of that night, he stayed away from the houses and followed the car through the treeline. 

As Liz's house came into view again, Peter huffed. Yeah, her father being an illegal weapons dealer made much more sense than being a construction worker. No way anyone had a house that nice without raking in way more cash than a medium wage job could provide.

Peter swung up to the tree hanging over their roof just as the car pulled into the driveway. He hid himself between the branches and peered out at the man stepping out of the car. The Vulture.

"Kar—" Peter's mouth clicked shut abruptly, and he clenched his jaw. Right.

He was on his own for this one. 

Mr. Toomes ushered Liz into the house with a laugh at something she'd said, and Peter felt something dread settle in his stomach. Oh man, if Liz ever figured out he was Spider-Man after he'd sent her dad to jail, it would not end well. But...he really, really liked her. Peter shook his head.

Christ. _Priorities_, Peter. Take down the bad guy, and then he could angst over his futile crush.

He couldn't get in the house to snoop around for weapons, and he couldn't get a scan on the building. He could've put a tracker on the car, except no, wait, he didn't have trackers to put on anything anymore. Peter let out a quiet groan of frustration. "No. Nope. I am Spider-Man. This will _not_ cripple me," He whispered fiercely to himself. He flexed his hands and took a deep breath to settle himself. "I can do this."

Sinking further back into the foliage, Peter sat down on the limb and settled in for a long wait. He fumbled for his phone and shot off a text to May that he had gone over to Ned's to spend the night, and another to Ned asking him to confirm Peter's story if May asked. After that, he put his phone away and glued his eyes to the house. He managed to remain vigilant for all of ten minutes before getting bored. It was early in the day, after all, and—assuming Mrs. Toomes wasn't aware of her husband's actual occupation—it would look suspicious if the man left right after getting home. He dealt at night.

That gave Peter some solace, at least. Mr. Toomes wouldn't want dangerous people around his wife and daughter, right? So that meant that he had to have a secret base of operation somewhere. He wouldn't keep volatile weapons in his basement, where Liz could stumble across it.

"Unless he has a bookshelf in there that flips around into an evil lair," Peter mumbled. He swung his leg back and forth absently as he watched the house with increasing jumpiness. Peter nearly lept out of the tree when his phone vibrated in his pocket with a confirmation from Ned and a very discreet winky face tacked on the end of it. Rolling his eyes, Peter turned back to the house and resigned himself to a few hours of boredom.

The sun slowly drifted down from the middle of the sky as Peter busied himself with alternating between playing Geometry Dash on his phone and watching for Mr. Toomes' exit. Four hours later, the sky bleeding red, and Peter was almost ready to call it.

Maybe the Vulture didn't go out every night. Maybe some days he just minded his own business and stayed in with his family. A thought that almost sent Peter into crisis mode, since he had a tough time reconciling a guy that had no problem dropping people from deadly heights into the bay with a man that cared about family. Not that Peter was close minded in that regard. He knew that crime wasn't as black and white as he'd once thought it was. He had seen homeless people pick pockets for money for food, had seen kids steal from vendors so that they wouldn't starve, had even stopped a bank robbery where the guy was just trying to stop said bank from taking his house. Peter knew that criminals had families and loved ones.

It had just never been an actual villain before.

Peter was in the middle of trying to ponder the ethical ramifications of someone who walks the line between 'for family' and 'greed' when Mr. Toomes reemerged from the house and slipped back into his car. Jolting back up into a crouch, Peter hurriedly swung himself up a few more branches so the foliage covered him from the bottom as well. The sky had darkened significantly by now, but Peter had no problems with working in the dark and was able to follow the car with much more ease now that he didn't have to worry about Toomes spotting him in the rearview mirror.

When Toomes reached the city, Peter wanted to cry in relief at being able to swing freely again. He followed Toomes down a few more relatively tame streets before the car hooked a left and went down one of the more rundown roads. Garbage littering the ground, abandoned complexes crumbling with disuse, street lights blackened and sparking. Peter frowned. One day maybe he would come down here and clean it up. It was rough, and exactly the sort of place that bred crime. The kind of crime that urged armed men to steal from gas stations and shoot unsuspecting bystanders.

When Toomes eventually pulled up at an abandoned factory, Peter rolled his eyes. Really? That was such a cliche villain thing to do. The only thing more cheesy horror movie chic would be an underground cave in a mountain or volcano or some shit.

Peter slunk to a stop one rooftop over to observe. The building was lit up from the inside, sheets of black plastic covering most of the windows. There was a large hole in the side of the building, also covered, but it had a lot more light seeping from the sides. That must have been the Vulture's landing pad. His other senses were useless this far away, save for his spidey senses, which blared with increasing force as he crept closer to the building and swung himself onto the roof. Crawling down the wall a bit, Peter stopped on the top most floor and carefully slid one of the cracked windows open. 

Voices immediately echoed through the cheap plastic and Peter perked up as he heard six sets of heavy boots thumping around on the concrete.

"Boss is on deck, get your shit together!"

"We're taking all of it?"

"Yeah, big order tonight. All ten sets."

"Damn. Alright then. Let's get a move on, boys!"

"Hey!"

"Right, sorry, Roxie. And girl. Happy? Good. Let's get these down there before Boss has our ass, yeah?"

There were a few more shouts and the sound of wooden crates scraping roughly across concrete, and Peter poked his fingers at the tape securing the tarp over the window so he could pry it open and get a peek at what exactly he was dealing with. Peering inside, Peter's eyes widened at the sheer number of purple alien rocks tucked inside crates as a crew of people began toting them down the stairs. There were hundreds of them, packed by the tens into those feeble wooden crates that Peter knew from experience would not be able to hold those weapons, should they come on.

Peter bit his lip. He didn't want those weapons out there, especially in bulk, but if he attacked them now and they got away, they would move their base, and Peter would be right back at square one without a clue how to find them again. 

Voices approaching the window made Peter flinch, and he flipped himself above the lip of the glass just before a pair of dark hands smoothed tape back over. "It's happening tomorrow. You can't tell 'em I told you."

"They've really got the balls to attack Stark's plane? Alien tech or no, it seems risky."

"Boss is ready to take the risk. Got an ace up his sleeve. Whatever the outcome, though, we'll be rich." 

The other guy laughed and the footsteps faded away down the stairs. Peter's whole body had gone cold. They were going to attack _what_?

It filled in slowly as Peter hastily scrambled back onto the roof. Happy had mentioned something about Stark Tower being sold, and since all the Avengers had once congregated at the tower, that meant that there was probably some more alien tech there. But Mr. Stark would probably want to keep it, right? Just to make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands. Which meant that the plane they were talking about was probably a moving plane to take all that dangerous stuff from the tower to the new Avengers compound. 

And the Vulture was planning to steal it.

Before Peter fully realized what he was doing, he had his phone in his hands and had pressed call on the number he hadn't had the heart to delete. It rang once, twice, before Peter blinked and shook himself. He pulled it away from his face with a frown.

_"Next up, on 'Peter Screws The Pooch'..."_ Peter heard Tony drawl derisively.

Peter hit the end call button and watched the screen go dark. He stared at it until the knot of dread in his stomach had turned into resolve. Mr. Stark's number was still in his phone because Peter held out hope that one day Mr. Stark would rethink his decision to try and revoke Peter's hero card. That maybe he would offer Peter a place in the Avengers. That maybe he would look at Peter as an equal.

All of that was out the window if Peter went chasing after Mr. Stark again to ask him to solve problems Peter had taken upon himself.

So no. Spider-Man was not going to call Iron Man. 

Peter's hands fisted and he turned off his phone to take the temptation out of his reach. He dropped it into his pocket and swung off the building in reckless abandon, oblivious to the phantom rings that echoed through the ears of a very worried billionaire.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta but I could use one if you wanna hmu *wink wink*


End file.
